


All Is Calm, All Is Well

by primreceded



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primreceded/pseuds/primreceded





	All Is Calm, All Is Well

**Title:** All Is Calm, All Is Well  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Disclaimer:** All characters, recognizable settings and or themes belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, and others. Title from 'Old Toy Trains' by Roger Miller. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.  
 **Char/Pair:** Sam, Dean - wee!chesters  
 **Prompt:** [Day 1](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v650/1Alisanne1/Christmas-Candles-04wallpapers-4784.jpg) @ [](http://www.insanejournal.com/users/adventdrabbles/profile)[](http://www.insanejournal.com/users/adventdrabbles/)**adventdrabbles**  
 **Spoilers:** None, pre-series  
 **Warnings:** ANGST. Neglectful!John  
 **W/C:** 778  
 **A/N:** Unbeta'd, mistakes are mine. First time in a long time for these boys, so bear with me!

Dean sighs, breath coming out a wispy fog in front of him like a spirit to be hunted. His nose is numb at the tip and he’s pretty sure he’s lost at least one toe to frostbite. Sam’s got his face pressed against the glass of a department store, eyes wonder-wide and little mittened hands clenched into fists at his sides. The display inside is bright, tree all aglow in the corner of a fake living room, set up like some happy family is going to come waltzing in any moment. Sammy’s torturing himself but Dean can’t work up the nerve to haul him away. After a few more minutes, though, he can’t take it anymore.

“Come on, Sam. We gotta get home,” he says and tugs on the hood of his brother’s coat. Sam whimpers but he doesn’t protest and when he pulls away from the window Dean pretends like he can’t see the tears in his eyes, turns his head when Sam rubs at them. And when he takes the offered gloved hand, wool now damp, he doesn’t say anything. His heart still trips over itself in his chest.

They make their way home, sky darkening with every step and Dean all but drags Sam behind him so they’re not late getting back. He doesn’t need his father coming down on them, on Sam. Not tonight.

When they round the corner though the Impala isn’t in the driveway. And that’s neither a blessing or something to be upset about, it is what it is and Dean’s had ten years to get over it. Sam doesn’t say anything either, just let’s go of Dean’s hand and pushes past him when he unlocks the door. He knows it isn’t fair, Sammy doesn’t ask for much and sacrifices more than any six year old should have to, the least he can have is his father home on Christmas.

Dean’s anger boils up in him fast and quick and he wants to hit something. Maybe his dad, and that scares him. He’s been mad at his father before but he’s never wanted to cause him harm, has never been disappointed in him, but he is now and that’s new.

He tamps the anger down, though and heads to the kitchen to pop some Swanson’s into the oven. Sam clicks on the T.V., the loud noise filtering from the living room into the tiny kitchen and Dean can hear him flip through the channels before landing on some cartoon. Dean pushes away from the counter with another sigh and goes to join him.

 

Stealing probably isn’t something Dean should be proud of but he has never been happier to have the skill than he is now. It helped that the girl behind the counter was engrossed in the magazine she was reading and wasn’t paying any attention to him. He’d pocketed a couple of Matchbox cars, figured they’ll be lost in the shuffle of their next move and forgotten but they were small enough to stash and Sammy’ll like them anyway.

He’d swiped a card too, and back home he signs his name in big block letters so Sam can read it, instead of his usual messy cursive. He pauses, wonders if he should sign his dad’s name too but his father can’t be bothered to be there and he doesn’t deserve to be part of the reason Sam smiles. Or at least Dean hopes he smiles.

He closes the card, snorts quietly at the giant Santa being pulled by the tiny reindeer and carries it and the cars to Sam’s bedside. The colorful lights that flicker from red to green and pink to blue he actually paid for, just a couple of bucks he’d found mostly in change. He’d wrapped them around the lamp on the stand beside their bed and they cast Sam in funny colorful shadows. It’s not a tree and far from fancy but it’s the best he could do.

He sits carefully on the edge of Sam’s bed and watches him breathe for a few minutes. He knows his father won’t be home tomorrow, maybe not even the day after that. He just hopes he’ll be a good enough substitute for Sam, that he’ll always be enough for Sam to keep him around.

He curls up next to him, slips carefully under the covers. He’s got his own bed but he doesn’t really feel like being too far away. Sam snuffles in his sleep but doesn’t wake up and Dean runs his fingers through his too long hair, watches the lights flicker against the wall for a few moments before closing his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.”


End file.
